


Rosie

by AmeliaM



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Family, Gen, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Probably majorly OOC, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaM/pseuds/AmeliaM
Summary: A wife who loses a husband is called a widow.A husband who loses a wife is called a widower.A child who loses its parents is called an orphan.There is no word for a parent wholoses a child.That’s how awful the loss is...





	Rosie

Ever since Claire Underwood had found out that Rosalyn May Underwood was due to be in her arms in 7 months and three weeks, a sense of dread had filled her. It was unexplainable, Claire wasn’t even preparing for the absolute worst, she was expecting the absolute worse. 

That was the sole reason Claire didn’t abort straight away, because she had the gut feeling that she would miscarry in a week or two. But when three weeks had passed and the child inside of her seemed to be quite comfortable in the place that it was in, Claire’s fears switched to the next stage of this extremely unfamiliar journey...

Telling Francis.

One of the first things that Claire told him was that she had a feeling inside of her that the child was never going to come to fruition anyway. Francis was still demanding an abortion, but when the day didn’t end with him locking Claire out of the house and telling her that she wasn’t allowed back in until she had rid herself of ‘it’, she counted it as a win. But before Claire even had the chance to celebrate, a brand new fear took over.

There had to be something wrong with it; some awful disease that was sure to end its life, or would lead Claire to make the decision to end its life before it had even began. But soon enough, an amniocentesis showed that the baby was healthy, normal and, by all accounts, female. Claire had wanted a girl, Francis still didn’t care that much at all, and still insisted on calling the baby ‘it’ even after an ultrasound confirmed that she was indeed a little girl. Claire paid no mind to Francis, but she promised herself that she would beat him until he was nothing more than a pile of blood and splintered bone if he ever tried anything.

And then one day he did do something...

Claire came home to find the study room empty and the walls painted a mint green. It wasn’t much of a girl colour, and it didn’t even slightly go with the rest of the house, but it was something. Francis had tried, and besides, the room didn’t look half-bad once they added in some white furniture. 

It was a happy time for awhile, until a new fear set in, Claire wasn’t getting any less far along, and, of course,

 she would have to give birth soon. The feeling of dread returned yet again and now Claire was convinced that the baby would be stillborn, or something would suddenly go horribly wrong and the baby would be whisked away, never to be seen alive again. The faithful afternoon arrived, by then the fear was so strong that Claire thought she would pass out before arriving at the hospital.

She didn’t...

And at 2:31am on the 15th morning of November in 1995, Roselyn May Underwood came into the world red-faced and screaming, but completely and utterly fine. Despite his vow to not become heavily attached (which had never been spoken about but most definitely implied), Francis was beaming with pride when she first entered the world. He had chosen her middle name, after his grandmother, and Claire had chosen Roselyn, after her own grandmother. She wasn’t sure why, Claire had only seen her a handful of times in her life before she died, but it was a nice name, and she had already decided that Roselyn would be called Rosie for short. She was beautiful, even the obstetrician, who had been staring at babies his entire career, told Claire that Rosie was an absolute stunner, and meant it too. 

There were good times, and there were bad times. 

At two months, Rosie caught her very first cold, and naturally, it had made Claire feel like the worst mother in the world.

At one year, Rosie took her first steps in the Underwoods’ newly-renovated kitchen, she got halfway across the floor before falling and hitting her head on the hard timber. Rosie had an egg the size of Rhode Island on her forehead for days, but she was fine.

At three years, the term ‘gifted’ first started to be thrown around. Rosie had no interest in playing with dolls, instead, she took a liking to looking at the newspaper every morning and telling Francis all the words she could read. It started off with easy words, she would sit there and read it with him and every so often she would say something like: “I know that says town, Sir...” By that age, Francis had already coerced Rosie into calling him Sir, Claire, however, had never and would never make her call her Ma’am. There was one morning, when Rosie was around four and a half, where she pointed at the newspaper and said: “Congressional, Sir.” Even Francis, who hadn’t been interested in any of Rosie’s milestone thus far, ended up doing a double take. That night, he took her out for ice cream and allowed her to get whatever she pleased.

At five years, Rosie laid her eyes on a violin for the very first time, and suddenly there was nothing else in the world more important to her. Rosie would play until Claire or, more often than not, Francis stormed into her room late at night and took the instrument off of her. It’s not as if Rosie was a bad player, Claire could sit and watch her play for hours, but of course, Rosie wasn’t the only person in the house with big plans, and energy was needed to execute those plans, and energy generally came with sleep.

At six years, Rosie’s teacher called Claire and asked that both her and Francis come in for a parent-teacher conference, something that neither of them had ever had time for. Claire was expecting the worse, immediately thinking that Rosie had adopted the same ruthless attitude towards first grade that Frank had adopted towards his career, or, alternatively, couldn’t have cared less about school. Thankfully, Claire was dead wrong. Through some miracle that the Underwoods probably didn’t deserve, Rosie had found a happy medium, and the teacher had only called just so she could tell Claire and Francis in person what a great student and a charming little girl she was. Although, towards the end of the meeting, Rosie’s teacher mentioned something about how she wished Rosie would need just a little less reassurance in the classroom. Claire was confused for awhile, until she took a long look at Francis on their way home, and suddenly it became clear. What followed was the couple’s first ever fight about Rosie...

“I think I know why Rosie isn’t so confident at school.”

“Oh really?”

“It’s because of you.”

Francis didn’t reply.

“Francis, do you love Rosie?”

“Are you asking me as to whether I love my own flesh and blood?”

“If you love her then why don’t you pay more attention to her? She absolutely adores you, and look at what you have done, Francis... You have starved her of so much care and attention that sometimes she doesn’t even believe that she’s a fraction of how smart she is.”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and allow you to lecture me about-“

“This isn’t a lecture, Francis, this is a warning.”

“For what? What do you think you are going to do if Rosie doesn’t get more self-assured? Will you lock me in a room with her and not let me out until I scratch her head and tell her what a good girl she is?”

“No, that wasn’t what I was trying to say. I just think you should be a little less cold with her, she’s six, every time I hear you speak to her, it’s like there’s recruit training going on in our own home.”

“Do you truly think I don’t feel bad enough already-“

“No, I don’t think you feel bad at all.”

Claire paused, thinking that Francis was going to fire back an equally undiplomatic response. He didn’t.

“I know that it’s difficult for you, you didn’t ask for Rosie, but to tell you the truth, I did. And I know that as much as you hate to admit it, she brings so much happiness to both of us, and if you would just appreciate her a little bit more, that would bring so much happiness to her.”

“Claire, I want Rosie to do just as well as you do, but she isn’t the only thing in my entire universe.”

“I know that, and I have known that since the moment I told you we were having Rosie. I know she isn’t the only thing in your universe, but I want her to be somewhere in your universe, is that too much to ask?”

Francis didn’t reply.

“Francis?”

“Alright, she’ll be there, Claire, she’ll be there.”

At nine years, Rosie went to summer camp for the first time, it was a fancy one in Running Springs, California, and, perhaps more importantly, one where she didn’t have to spend the whole summer. However, Claire, like any loving parent who was of above average intelligence and wealth would, still armed Rosie with two phones; one that would be collected by a counsellor when she got there and one she would use to text Claire at least once a day. After two weeks, Rosie came back sunburnt, but with a big smile plastered on her face, and for the first time, Claire realised that Rosie was beginning to grow up, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel happy, sad or old.

At ten years, Rosie was only getting better and better at the violin, however, one day, she came home wanting to try a new hobby: Soccer. Claire had never cared much for the sport, the only one that she ever remembered mildly enjoying was American football, since she sometimes accompanied her father to the many games that he attended over the years. When Claire told Francis about Rosie’s newest pursuit, he was unsurprised. He surmised that:

  * Since Rosie was a girl, she couldn’t play football 
  * Since Rosie was a girl, she couldn’t play baseball
  * Since Rosie had once unapologetically screamed out “NERDS!” while walking past a women’s lacrosse game once, so she wouldn’t play lacrosse.
  * Since Rosie was a little bit short and skinny for her age, basketball would only lead to frustration and injuries.
  * Since Rosie naturally wasn’t a big fan of the water, she would probably never be competitively swimming.
  * Since Rosie was the kind of person who would sit out of softball in protest of not being allowed to play baseball, softball would never be on the cards.
  * In fact, if you took all the sports that Rosie wouldn’t/couldn’t play away, soccer would probably be the only one left



It made more sense to Francis than Claire.

At thirteen years, Rosie was sent to Bullis School for the first time. Up until that point, she had been schooled at Capitol Hill Day School, a small school that didn’t have much in the way of, well, to keep it short: Uniforms, extracurricular clubs, space for sports

Much like anything new that Rosie did, Claire was fearful, while Rosie was so excited that she could barely contain herself. Anyone would have thought that Rosie would be crushed to have to start at a school where none of her friends were going, but much like Francis, Rosie’s friends were never awfully important to her. To put it nicely, they were quite decorative. Rosie treated them nicely, but Claire could count on one hand how many times she had brought a friend home. At the end of the day, Rosie would rather be surrounded by violins than people. It seemed as though the ‘decorative friends’ attitude also worked at Bullis as well, since within less than a week, Rosie had settled in just fine.

At sixteen years, Rosie decided she wanted to drop the summer camp in California and instead spend two weeks in Boston doing a program at the Boston Conservatory the summer before her junior year. When she returned to D.C, Claire almost didn’t recognise her. She looked ready to fight whatever life had to throw at her and grab whatever it was to offer her. Claire felt proud, but also old. So, so fucking old.

At seventeen years...

God...

So much happened after Rosie turned seventeen...

In the fall, Rosie decided to quit soccer... permanently. As much as she herself liked to tell everyone that she decided that there was no room in her life for soccer anymore, the main reason Rosie quit was because she couldn’t stand anyone who played on her team anymore. Rosie’s tenure with her school’s soccer team came to a screeching halt when she got in a fight with another member of her team during a match. It might have worked out in her favour if her opponent wasn’t six foot and 180 pounds of muscle. Needless to say, Francis wasn’t pleased with any of the team nor Rosie.

In the winter, Rosie attended a certain symphony with Francis and Claire, as it turns out, the conductor knew someone at Bullis, where, according to him, Rosie was known as an unstoppable force among the music teachers. This conductor also happened to know someone at Juilliard; words could not describe the look on Rosie’s face when he said he’d put in a good word for her. Rosie’s seemingly unbreakable good mood lasted until the next morning, when she caught sight of the photo of Frank looking at Zoe. Frank only sighed when he realised that the photo had pissed Rosie off quite noticeably.

“Rosie, you know that photo doesn’t mean a thing, right?”

“Yeah, Sir, I know.”

What Rosie should have said at the moment was: “Are you sure?” Because if one thing was certain, that photo would lead to something that was so much bigger than what Rosie could’ve ever imagined.

In the spring, one evening, when Sophie was practicing with her violin, Francis came in and watched her play.

“Sir, I think I want to go to Switzerland in the summer.”

“Not this year, we can go there next summer before you start college.”

“No, Juilliard runs this program at this boarding school in Geneva for high school students, it only goes for two weeks, I understand if it’s too much, Sir-“

“No.”

“No? In what context, Sir?”

“No, as in forget what I just said about how it couldn’t happen. You’ve got a good thing going with this violin, and I don’t want to keep you from grasping any opportunities that come your way. If you want to go to Geneva, well, then Geneva is where you’ll head.”

“Wow, I- Thank you, Sir.”

“No, don’t thank me, you deserve everything and anything you want in this life. Keep practicing.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Rosie would forever remember those words as the nicest things that Francis had ever said to her... And when July came around, Geneva was exactly where she went.

Deep in the summer, one car ride between Claire and Rosie was unusually silent. The two had had a lot of silent car rides but there was such an uneasy feeling between them. Then, Rosie suddenly looked over at Claire and told her what Peter Russo had tried to do to her when Claire and Francis had taken him into their home the night of the ball. Claire wondered if that was what her feelings of dread were all along, that the same thing that happened to Claire would happen to Rosie. Claire wanted to kill Russo, she would’ve killed him if the consequences that would’ve followed weren’t so huge.

And then in September, Russo did die, and Claire couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that Frank had _something_ to do with it.

In the fall, Rosie changed.

For a week or two, Claire thought that it was simply the nerves and the stress of starting her very last year of high school that had made Rosie a lot more reserved, but when it didn’t pass, Claire didn’t know what to do. Whenever she had the time to talk to her (which was not often, to be perfectly honest), it would just end with Rosie shutting the door in Claire’s face. After a month of near dead silence from Rosie, even Francis said that he didn’t ever seem to see Rosie anymore, and when he did, she was never willing to talk. Claire eventually shrugged it off as a phase, Francis, well, he simply forgot about it altogether; a moody teenager wasn’t something he was about to prioritise over everything else.  

In October, Claire resorted to buying back Rosie’s affection. One day, she snapped and bought her an electric violin and a car, two purchases that she would have never been able to justify had her birthday not been only one month away. When Rosie grew even colder, Claire stooped even lower and slapped a bow on the hood of the car and told Rosie that her early birthday present was right outside. Claire should’ve known that it would never have worked; the appreciative ‘hug’ she got from Rosie was the most wooden gesture that Claire had ever received. Things didn’t get better, they just got worse...

On the 1st of November, Rosie got a call from Juilliard. They wanted her testimonial from the summer camp in Geneva and were willing to meet her in D.C. Since Rosie was in the middle of school when they called, she asked them to call her back in the evening. That night, Rosie was just finishing up in the shower when her phone began to ring.

“Hey Mom, can you get that for me?! It’s probably the Juilliard people!” 

“Sure.”

Rosie had just put her up in a towel when Claire walked into the bathroom. She was holding Rosie’s phone up to her ear in silence. Rosie furrowed her eyebrows, she could tell from the look on her face that Claire was not impressed.

“Well, I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed your time with her, Mr Alberton. I’ve got her right here in front of me if you want to say goodbye.”

Rosie’s eyes widened, she knew straight away who the Mr Alberton that Claire was talking to was. Rosie winced and reluctantly reached her arm out, hoping that Claire wouldn’t immediately bite it off when it got close enough to her. Instead, she simply took the phone away from her ear and began to reach out to put it in Rosie’s hand. When it was just a few inches away from safety, Claire let it go; Sophie’s phone dropped to the floor, cracking and going black the moment it hit the tiles.

“What the fuck?!”

“I will drive you to the store and get you a new one as soon as you tell me who Jackson is.”

“What? This is ridiculous-“

“If you tell me who is right now, you get a new phone, I won’t even think about taking away the keys to your car and most importantly, I won’t tell your father. Now, I already know the basics; he’s a gentleman who goes to George Washington University, and when he called just then, he asked specifically for you.”

Rosie quietly looked down and mumbled something.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“We’re seeing each other, okay?! We’re going out! I love him! What else do you want me to say?!”

Claire simply walked out of the bathroom, sighing and shaking her head. Rosie rolled her eyes, yanking the towel out of her hair and tossing it on the floor (something she knew that Claire hated) before walking out as well.

”You don’t love him. You think you love him, but you don’t.” Claire directed that statement more at herself than to Rosie. She was desperately trying to convince herself that whatever Rosie felt towards this college boy wasn’t love. She was too young to fall in love, and had too much to look forward to. Rosie should have been focusing on Juilliard, not on a relationship that is most certainly destined to fail.

“I want you to break up with him, do you understand? You’re going to end it and be done with it.” 

“Or what, Mom? Or what? You’re gonna take away my phone? You already broke it. You’re gonna take away my car? Well, guess what? You chopped up my bus pass, so I need it to go to school.” Rosie fired back. “And what the hell do you know about love anyway? I can admit that I’m stupid and that I’m too young to know what I’m really doing, but at least I know who I love and what I want, unlike you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you honestly think I don’t know about you and Adam? And... Dad and Zoe? You’re supposed to know I’m smart, Mom. You’re the one who paid for those specialised summer camps, you’re the one who paid for private school and violin and all that other bullshit! Did it ever occur to you that I’m... You know... Not a complete moron?! Why are you and Adam fucking?! Why are Frank and Zoe fucking?! Why are you and Frank okay with each other fucking other people?! Do you guys even love each other?!”

Claire had to say something, just _something_ , to try and shut up Rosie.

“Rosie, the most important thing you need to know is that we both love you-“

“Oh, bullshit! Frank’s never loved me, Frank’s never even liked me that much. The only reason he tolerates me is because I’m an over-achieving people-pleaser. All my life, all my fucking life, all I’ve ever wanted was a dad who loved me just because I was his daughter! And not because I could read by four or can play the violin or whatever! Why is that too much to ask? Why can’t he just love me?!”

“Rosie, I don’t expect you to under-“

“No, you _don’t want_ me to understand, there’s a difference.”

With that, Rosie spun around and walked into the kitchen. Claire heard the rattling of keys, only becoming concerned when Rosie reappeared holding one in her hand. 

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” 

Claire figured she just needed to some time to think, so, she hesitantly decided to let her keep walking...

_She would come to regret that._

“Are you going to _him_?”

“I don’t know.” 

“When are you going to be back?”

“I don’t know!”

Rosie slammed the door behind her, Claire heard her walk down the steps, her flip-flops clip-clopping all the way to the bottom. Claire cursed herself, and she wondered if things between them would ever be okay again...

An hour passed, Francis returned home and informed Claire that he was to become Vice President, and for the first time in her life, Claire couldn’t have given two shits about it, at least at that moment. She informed Francis that they both would be having a big discussion with Rosie when she returned home.

Two hours passed, Claire began to worry, but told herself that Rosie was fine, she was just mad, and even if she needed a few days to cool off then she would allow it.

Two hours and fifteen minutes had gone by when Claire got the call...

She didn’t quite comprehend the whole conversation, Claire could only really remember the words: “Your daughter”... “Jefferson Memorial Hospital”... “Serious Car Accident”... “Severe injuries”... “Critical”... “Uncertain”. Claire remembered throwing down the phone. She didn’t remember grabbing her bag or changing into something more appropriate. She also didn’t even remember telling Francis. But when she found herself in the car on the way to the hospital, he was the one that was driving.

“Francis, if she goes-“

“She won’t.”

“But-“

“She won’t.”

But when the two finally were granted access to the intensive care unit and finally got the chance to lay their eyes on Rosie, Claire knew that Francis had changed his viewpoint from “She won’t.” to “She might.” 

Rosie was pale, and when the doctors allowed Claire to enter the room she was being held in, she found that Rosie was extremely cold to touch. She had been put into an induced coma, by the time the paramedics got to Rosie, she wasn’t breathing; a ventilator had been their only option.

Rosie was covered in layers upon layers of bandages, but blood was still seeping its way through the white material. Within five minutes of Claire going in, a nurse had come into to replace the bandages wrapped around Rosie’s left hand. That was when Claire discovered that two of her fingers were completely missing and all the others were bent and broken, and the nurse’s response when Claire asked her what they were planning on doing about it was: “Oh yeah... I guess that’ll have to get taken care of.”

Five minutes after that, a doctor entered the room and asked Claire to sit down before he started explaining the extent of Rosie’s injuries. She nodded and did just that. The doctor began with Rosie’s head: There were glass shards that had been embedded in the cornea of her right eye; it would most likely be useless to Rosie from this point onwards. He moved to Rosie’s neck; one of her jugular veins had been punctured in the accident, and she had lost a third of her blood volume. Luckily, they had boatloads of her type right there in hospital. That was the one thing that had gone okay. The doctor moved to Rosie’s chest: Most of her ribs had been crushed and she was severely bleeding internally. The doctor informed her that only time could tell them what exactly to do about it; she could be a ticking time bomb or maybe, just maybe, it would work itself out. The doctor moved towards her hips: One had been broken and severely displaced. Rosie would most likely require a total hysterectomy due to the damage it had done. Finally, the doctor gestured towards Rosie’s right leg, which was encased firmly in plaster and propped up. He could barely even find the words to explain how bad the outlook was, he simply retrieved a photo of the x-ray; Rosie’s leg had essentially been crushed. They had put it in a cast for now, but the doctor said very frankly that Rosie would most likely lose the leg.

Before he left, the doctor mentioned that Rosie had “hit her head a bit hard”, but he didn’t want to talk a lot about it until Rosie had been put on an EEG machine. 

“I’m sorry, what’s that?” Claire asked softly.

“It detects the amount of activity currently happening in the brain. It could almost as if she’s asleep, but there also could be none, that means-“

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, but yes.”

The moment the doctor had left the room, Claire broke down in tears, eventually coming down to her knees at Rosie’s bedside. She felt as if no matter what she said to Rosie it would not make a difference, so Claire just sat there in silence, sobbing into her hand.

When the EEG machine was set up, Claire prepared herself for the worst. She had briefly talked to Francis and they had already made the decision that if there was absolutely nothing going on, then her ventilator would be turned off tonight.

But something that resembled a miracle took place that night, because when the EEG machine began running, it detected a very small amount of activity. Even the doctors had said not to get her hopes up, but when Claire saw small black waves exiting the machine, that was exactly what Claire did.

A few days after Rosie was put into hospital, the police visited the Underwood house. They had spoken to several witnesses and viewed the footage of the crash before concluding that Rosie’s car had been hit by a drunk driver. The police officer that came into the house allowed Claire and Francis to view the footage of the crash.

Rosie was doing nothing wrong. Nothing at all. She had been simply sitting at a red light at an intersection when a white van came into the shot. It was going too fast and swerving across the road. When the driver attempted to make a turn, they failed, and instead crashed right into Rosie’s car.

After a few moments, the van, although damaged, simply drove away. After the footage had stopped, the officer said that the license plate had been traced back to a man living in Deanwood… whose van had been stolen several weeks before the accident. There was nothing else the police could do except look for the van.

Soon after the officer left the house, Claire found herself crying for what felt like the hundredth time, and she wondered if what was happening to Rosie was simply to punish Claire.

As the days passed, things slowly began to change. Rosie’s wounds began to heal, her remaining fingers had been set back into place and, despite what the doctor said, reconstructive surgery on her leg was being planned out. They were also reconsidering the hysterectomy. Even Francis, someone who had seldom showed that he even liked having her around, gave a slight smile when they were told that things might be okay.

And then things weren’t okay…

Claire got the call literally minutes after Francis was sworn in as Vice President. 

Claire had been talking to a member of Walker’s cabinet when they asked how Rosie was doing and she told them that she was improving; responding to stimuli and even opening her eyes for a few seconds every once in a while. Suddenly, Claire’s phone began to ring.

The EEG machine that was hooked up to Rosie had been outputting extremely consistent results, so it had been removed from Rosie’s room several days before. Rosie hadn’t really been opening her eyes, but every so often, she would flinch slightly; it was only a slight movement of a toe or a finger, but it meant there was hope.

But that call shattered all hope left.

After noticing Rosie wasn’t responding to any stimuli anymore, the doctors had set the EEG machine up in her room again.

There was nothing. All that showed was a black, flat line. 

Rosie was dead.

Claire had left the hall when the doctor began to tell her what the next steps were. Unbeknownst to Claire, Francis had seen her leave, and by the way she was walking out, he could tell that something was seriously wrong. So, against his better judgement, Francis followed her out. When he caught up to her, she was standing on the steps outside in tears, the phone still up to her ear.

When Claire finally hung up the phone, there was complete silence. Her head was in her hands, but she wasn’t howling violently, not even sniffling. Francis, who, for one of the few times in his life, felt guilty, went to put his hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.” She hissed violently, before walking back up the stairs and into the hall again. Minutes later, she was sitting in a cubicle in the bathroom, sobbing into her hands, when suddenly it all hit her. This was what Claire had been afraid of this whole time. This was what being sure she was going to have a miscarriage or a stillbirth was all about; Claire always knew that Rosie was going to die before her. She just had no idea when it was going to happen.

When Claire arrived at the hospital, she felt as though Rosie’s hospital room was completely different. No furniture had moved, and no gifts had been brought, but the feeling that Claire felt when she walked into that room was so unfamiliar. Was this what grief actually felt like? When her father had died, Claire believed that she had felt and gone through grief, but it felt nothing like what she was feeling now. There was disbelief, but there was a feeling of hopelessness that had completely overtaken Claire.

When Francis came in to say goodbye, he put his hand on her cold, pale face and said that he was sorry. Claire didn’t know what he was apologizing for, nor did she know if he was being genuine about his apology or not, but Francis left the room immediately after with a stone face, so Claire didn’t think she’d ever know.

After a doctor had came in to remove Rosie’s ventilator, Claire took a seat on the edge of the hospital.

“She won’t feel anything, will she?”

The doctor shook his head, “Not a thing.”

Once the doctor had left, Claire reached over and caressed Rosie’s cheek. Her lips began to turn blue and her beautiful skin began to mottle. Claire took one of Rosie’s bandaged hands in both of hers and kissed it. When she looked up, the heart monitor showed a flat, green line.

Almost everyone in attendance told Claire that Rosie’s funeral was beautiful, but she was slightly puzzled when a young, tall, blonde man approached her and told her how beautiful it was. A lot of people Claire had never seen before came up to Claire, but all of them were wearing a formal Bullis school uniform; this man was wearing a suit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Connor Alberton. We talked on the phone.”

At that moment, Claire felt all the guilt in the world. She had seen him earlier as he approached Rosie’s coffin; the young man had simply put his hand on top (Claire had decided on a closed casket funeral) and taken a deep breath. It was so obvious now that he truly loved Rosie. If Claire had not yelled at her about “Mr Alberton”, she would have still resented Claire, but she would have been alive.

Being cold and distant was better than being cold and dead.

“I went in to go and visit her a few hours after she died. They stopped me before I reached her room and told me what happened.” Connor said, staring down at his feet.

Claire was looking down as well. At the point, she was embarrassed to meet his eye. Claire couldn’t even believe her own feelings; how could she be made to feel ashamed by someone who was less than half her age?

“I’m sorry.” Claire whispered.

Connor did not say anything. He looked down and scoffed to himself before walking away, Claire felt as though she deserved all of it. His heart had been shattered into a million pieces, and it was all on her. Claire was almost laughing; she’d expected Connor to be a t-shirt wearing frat boy, but watching him walk away, Claire knew that he would accomplish big things.

Him and Rosie would have been perfect for one another.

Soon after Connor walked away, Claire saw Adam on the other side of the room. And, like Connor did seconds before, she walked away in disgust.

The delusions began a few weeks after Rosie’s death. It was late one night when Claire was packing up Rosie’s things from her room and putting them into three boxes labelled: Trash, Charity and Keep. She had just put the electric violin in the 'Charity' box, after lamenting in silence that she would never hear Rosie play it, when the strangest feeling made itself apparent within Claire: Something was watching. When she turned around, however, there was nothing. Still, Claire had an extremely vague feeling that she was not alone.

They never found who ‘killed’ Rosie. A few weeks after she died, the white van was found in a storm drain. This time, there was no cameras. The police visited Claire and Francis personally a few days later to say that they were closing the investigation.

More time passed, and more things began to change, but Claire found herself thinking about Rosie most of the time. She didn’t let it show though, on the outside, her life revolved around getting into the White House. The feeling that Rosie was watching her didn’t go away, even after the Underwoods moved out of their house on 1609 Far Street and into the White House. As a matter of fact, it got worse.

One night, Claire awakened to the sound of a violin in the hallway.

Then the next night, Claire thought that she saw Rosie wrapped up in the curtains of the bedroom.

When the White House portrait was taken, Claire saw Rosie clearly for the first time. She was standing behind the photographer, as white as ghost with a sinister smile on her face.

When Claire was so fed up that she left Francis, she saw Rosie as she walked out, standing under a street light wearing the same white sheet and smile.

When Claire was sitting there watching her mother die, Rosie was standing at the end of the bed, her eyes fixed on Claire.

And when Claire ignored Francis’ call for the final time, Rosie was sitting on the couch, leaned back with her legs crossed. Again, she was giving Claire the smile.

But when Claire sat down in that chair in the Oval Office for the first time, Rosie was surprisingly missing. And for just a few moments, Claire thought that the visions had finally gone away. She had finally finished grieving.

But Claire realised that none of it was true when she felt a presence behind her. Sure enough, Rosie walked around and approached Claire’s new desk before putting a bloody, bent and broken hand on top of hers. Then, for the first time since she had died, Rosie spoke to Claire:

“I’m going to be here forever and ever, Mommy.”

Claire finally submitted to her delusions, and instead of trying to pretend she wasn’t there, Claire smiled at Rosie.

“Okay, sweetie.”

Claire looked down at Rosie’s hand. It was now black and decayed.

_“Okay.”_


End file.
